A Ricktastic coincydink
by 0sinihilkka0
Summary: A Morty more fucked up than the rest, meets a Rick of equal standing. Shit just happens, and 'whomp' this Rick becomes a part of Mortys Life just like that. ...But what if we make it a simulation? (Not all sunshine and flowers tho, you've been warned)
1. a coincydink

I'm browsing YouTube on my phone, when I get thirsty. I go down to fill my water bottle. There is this weird looking older Guy, with spiky hair sipping from a flask, and just chilling the fuck out with his feet on the table. He has this white jacket thing that I conclude from that he's probably one of mums colleagues, and just waiting for her to come home. I get that mum needs some company almost daily since the divorce. And I really don't mind her friends. They don't patronise me like dad always did. And anyhow it's not like I have any of my own.

"Wazzup Morty?" he asks in a familiar voice. Mum must have said quite a bit about me for him to not even introduce himself first. I feel a bit awkward because she has never said a thing about this guy, and just go along with his familiarity: "Yeah umm...pretty good. Just getting some school essays done." He looks like he catches my lie, but doesn't thankfully comment. I fill my bottle, while he looks at me with this weird look on his face like something about me is a bit off. I nervously tell him: "Beth should be home in like an hour. She texted me earlier so… Yeah. Um. I'll just go back to my room." He just silently nods. I retreat my troops faster than Canada, and slide back on my bed ASAP.

An hour runs by without much thought. A shiver passees through me and I hear mum pull up onto the driveway. She's holding a bag of groceries. I wave at her through my window, signaling that I'd much rather stay up than go all formal and drag my ass down again. She smiles, and blows me a kiss, basically giving me the all green to stay cooped up. I return to my bed.

I know we don't really talk, unless she drunkenly comes to pour her heart on me. I secretly cherish those times. It sounds real fucked up to say, but it works for the two of us. Since Summer is off studying, mum fills the house with her friends. They stay often over for the night. Sometimes in her bed, sometimes not. The two of us even renovated that spare storage room into a guest bedroom. And I really don't mind her exploring her sexuality, after all that is what we got that soundproofing for. Best of all I don't now have to be all hush-hush while wanking to some scummy porn online.

My thoughts on family ethics get interrupted by a text from mum to "come dowstairs for a talk." There goes my being alone all evening.Oh jeesh, don't tell me that spiky hair dude is going to become something. I mean he's pretty nice looking for an older guy, but still. As I'm walking down the stairs I'm thinking it can't be a money thing since she just got that hefty promotion.

Things downstairs defy my expectations. Mum is all teary, but smiling and holding his hand. This man is looking at a weird gadget somewhere between a remote and a handgun, with a glowy green light on top, and frowning. Mum looks at me and with a reassuring smile now:" Sorry Morty but your grandpa from another dimension decided to stay for dinner. Thought this could be a family thing, If you catch my drift."

It takes me quite a bit to recover, and she looks worried. When I can't think of anything to say she asks me to help her with prep in the kitchen. I oblige. This 'grandpa' of mine is left with his gun/remote in the livingroom. I'm unpacking things into the fridge when she starts to speak: "So you remember that time when I told you all about your grandpa who invented all those cool things, and then wasted his brilliant mind to alcoholism. Yeah, so our Rick died when you were kneehigh. But there are endless Ricks running around alive and well in their own dimensions. We just had shit luck and our Rick… So they all invented those portalguns he was holding back there, and we aparently live in a really easily mistake inducing universe code. So over the years a few Ricks have come by with their Mortys by accident. This Rick explained that to me just a minute ago. Isn't it weird. Makes me feel all small.". She rambles on and pours some wine onto the ovenpan. "With their Mortys?" I pick up. She places the chicken into the wine with some ready chopped veggies from a clear bag with 'organic' written on the packaging way too many times.

I go to dry my hands, and notice this Rick leaning on the doorframe. It's stiff not casual. He's looking at us and our eyes meet as he answers:" Yeah most Ricks take their Mortys on dangerous adventures through space. I prefer to keep my Morty safe at home where he belongs." I feel a bit affronted by his belittling of my survival skills, but quickly agree with mum who quips back:" If your Morty is anything like mine he is probably happier that way. This one would live in his bed If he didn't have to do school on the computer at his desk." They laugh. It's a bit strained, but well meaning enough on both their part. Ricks eyes haven't left mine. He looks curious, 'till mum turns around having put the chicken in the oven. His eyes leave mine and smile at hers.

"So what do you do for fun back where you come from?" she asks clasping her hands together. Rick lights up and starts blabbing about interdimensional cable, and some show called 'ball fondlers'. Me and mum sit on the couch and laugh at the name. He is admant in defending it while he plugs something on our television. It's all dusty from not being used for months. Even then it was one of mums friends who drunkenly binged some Netflix show one night with a bottle of whiskey.

The small machine whirrs into action, and Rick kicks back on our new second sofa flipping through channels with the remote. For the next hour the room is filled with laughter and horrible( sometimes embarrassingly sexual) jokes, about the weird shit on screen. Mum basks in her fathers attention and Rick starts to really relax and get into the weird shit going on on screen. He talks a whole lot with his hands, obviously exited to explain what happens on every show. I even manage to make them laugh with a few jokes of my own. Mum looks surprised by my socialness, and gives me an encouraging squeeze on the forearm.

An alarm goes off on the kitchen counter, and I go to help mum set up the table. Rick again leans on the doorframe, this time he looks like he belongs there. I put the chicken on the table between our cutlery, and mum uncorks a red wine. She doesn't ask me anymore, just pours us all a glass. It makes me feel all grown up and shit.

Rick takes his place opposite to us, while mum rummages the fridge for some fig jam that she says she knows is there. Rick stares at me again, but this time smiles too. I smile back while mom shouts: "Heureka!"

I listen intently while they exchange information on their Jerrys, not really caring about the topic, but instead weighing this new character infront of me. He loves the food and: "Maybe freedom from that maggot of a man increases freedom and cookingskills." While Rick says this he gets this gleam in his eyes that wrinkles the corners. Mum has a load of friends that call themself "chill", but never reach his level of suave. Mom looks complete, but I can't push away the nagging feeling that this man is a stranger.

Too soon second helpings are finished, and the bottle is empty.

Rick leans back on his chair:" Beth, you have been an excellent host, but I really must get back to what I was supposed to do. Would have one angry gazorpazorp waiting If he doesn't get his delivery this moon." The alien name sounds weird rolling so casually of his tongue. Mum is almost in tears and says he's welcome. It sounds like an invitation to return, but I think she and I knows at the back on our minds that If this man is at all like that alcoholic we had, this would be the last we see of him. "Hey Morty," he says snapping me out of my musings :" You can keep that cable box, it won't take too long to whip up a new one, so it's yo-EURGH-urs kiddo. The porn is between 655 and 698, just so you know to avoid it." He winks at me making mum laugh. I'm too tipsy not to join in. "Yeah, um th-thanks. I'll write it down just in- just in case. Heh," I joke. Rick laughs, gets up, shoots a green whirl with the portalgun, says his goodbyes, waves, steps through, the portal closes, and he's gone.

Beside me mum sighs smiling. She puts a hand on my shoulder and says:" That was a nice surprise." I nod and help her clean up.

I shout "good night" from the staircase, and leave her with the TV and a new bottle.


	2. Return of the mad scientist

I wake from a real piece of shit nightmare, and jump out of my skin, when I'm greeted by my mums worried face. She's sitting on my bed with a:" Good morning Morty, had another nightmare?" I just nod, not seeing a point in lying. Her lips tighten and she gains years in the form of wrinkles.

"I really have no idea how to help you with that one, Sorry. Maybe just try to decrease your stress?.. Anyhow I came here to tell you that the Rick from last night will be staying here a while. He came back last night in shambles. His own family got killed while he was here… I offered him the garage, but he was in no shape for a civilised conversation last night. I'm glad you got those sleeping pills so you didn't hear it. It got pretty ugly. He's out cold in the guest room."

I don't want to tell her I took none last night, but just slept like a baby with alcohol and a good bit of making swift love to myself. She doesn't need to hear. "Ye-yeah. Don't we have that spare mattress in the attic? If he agrees, maybe we can make that work for him. The garage is mu-much -much bigger than that guest room."

She agrees with a nod and says:" If… then while you're up there why don't you get that big green tarp for my car.- Thanks sweetie, what would I do without you?" She kisses my forehead and on the way out shuts the light, knowing I won't wake up at the ungodly hour she does. I'm awake long enough to hear her driving off.

I'm permanently awake all too soon. Going out to brush my stinky teeth isn't good enough a reason to stop me from a good hour of escapism via the internet. I embrace my soft blanket castle, and scroll through some animated porn. Nothing catches my eye, yet again. Bored I scroll some forum for furry porn, and manage to get a semi. Fuck it. I dress up and go brush my teeth. I wash my face and warily look at the reflection. "Not looking so hot, am I?" I ask myself, and pinch some life to my pale cheeks. If it's cloudier than yesterday, I'll catch some rays on the backyard. This I promise to myself, as I exit.

I stop on my tracks tho when I reach the hallway. On the ground next to the guest room door lies a pair of familiar pants. He flaunted them on his long lean legs by lifting them often into sight. It was just yesterday, it's still crystal clear in my memory. "So this is it now. If things go down smoothly, this is the thing that fixes all our biggest problems," I think to myself, while lifting the pants onto a mini sofa mum found at our neighbors yard sale last week. It still smells like fresh paint.

When I turn around I almost squeal in fright, as Rick has seemingly silently opened the door and is stretching his hand towards the pants. He looks like steaming hot trash. I give them to him dutifully. He grunts a thanks and retreats back the way he came.

I stand there a moment unsure what to do. Should I make him some breakfast, cause I don't believe people who went through trauma can cook on the first day after. I tell myself to stop being a little bitch, and just go back to browsing. But I can't help myself, and a while later I'm back on the same spot. In my hands is a plate of bacon, cheese omelet, and some toast, and a hefty carton of oj. I knock on the door with the hand with the juice. There is no answer. A small wavering feeling of panic rises within. "If the door is not locked I ca- could bring you some breakfast ...if you let me." I sound pathetic but who gives a shit, when I can only seem like exactly what I am: overwhelmingly unequipped to deal with this situation, and purely riding on instinct. "It's open," is what I think he says. I poke my head in the door. He's lying face down, clothed, on the bed. "I'll just put these here on the dresser," I tell him, looking at the back on his head. I'm still looking while I'm leaving. He lifts his head and catches my stare with his own bloodshot eyes. I feel rooted right to that spot on the floor. His tired gaze just looks from beyond the haze, and he blinks slowly like a vulnerable feline. I answer with the same, and for a moment he looks shocked, then his eyes crinkle. "Gotcha," he whispers into the pillow. I hear it loud and clear, and quickly hide beyond the door, and soon under my blanket.

My fingertips feel like firecrackers. He couldn't have meant what I think he did. Right? Right?! I mean who-... I mean how even would-... I bite back a whimper as I palm myself under covers. The door is locked, walls very soundproof, so why the fuck not. It's not like anyone could find out what I fantasise of in my own mind. So I let go of the pier and let myself drift off to sea.

It's four o'clock, and I'm getting some school done at my desk. I hear a bang from the hallway, and jump onto my feet. I'm in the hallway without a second thought. Rick is just starting to climb up the ladder to the attic. He stops in his tracks:" Thought I'd go see if you also- If - If you have one of those blue and white striped mattresses. Thinking of bunking in the garage like your mum suggested. She talked to you di-EURP-dn't she?" He sounds very even, and even looks like nothing has happened. Looks like he he even got some sleeping done, evidenced by the lighter colouring under the eyes.

"Ye-yeah, she also wants that big tarp for the car. It should-should be on the black shelves at the back," I tell him like the proud mommas boy that I am.

" 'Kay," and he's gone.

I stand there for a moment not knowing what to do. He soon re emerges and hands me the mattress. It has been rolled like sushi, and held together by a belt. I receive it and place it on the ground, while he disappears once more. I fidget with the belts buckle, until I remember mum telling that it belonged to grandpa. I let go of it like hot iron. I think this Rick is wearing one just like it. When he climbs down, my suspicion is confirmed. This is so fucked.

We walk down to the garage (I pick up some linen on the way) and set up his new bed. I hold the belt for a moment before placing it on a counter, that sits empty in a lack of tools or other gardening stuff. That all left with dad. Now we just have cabinets full of dust bunnies. We even just stopped mowing the lawn out of defiance on moms part to re buy something Jerry took. "There's a spare one for you I guess," I mutter, and move to place the tarp on a shelf. I do it just to have something to do. It would have totally been just fine on the ground. I feel awkward and move towards the door:"Beth said she'd ..um be home at nine. I'll warm- put some food in the oven right before. You're welcome to join." I don't wait for a response, and just leave.

The sunset is devine, and I snap a picture of it through the living room window, then head down to stick the casserole in the chicken tanning booth. When I'm done I scan the picture I took. There is a gaunt figure in the windows reflection holding a phone. I forgot to enjoy the weather like I promised myself. Not the first time I let myself down- More like a daily occurrence at this point.

Me and mum are in the middle of our meals when he shows up. Mum is looking at him intently, trying to find marks of anything. He eats half a plate and excuses himself to go stare at the tv. The dinner is silent. Mum seems worried but quite helplessly tonguetied. I place our dishes in the sink and urge her towards them with a nudge on the shoulder. I have no real strategy for what I'm about to do, but I flip the universe the double bird and just wing it. "So. Uh. Rick. Where do the other Mortys go with-with their Ricks?" I ask him, feeling moms ears on the conversation. Rick pats the place next to him, and I sit. He looks at the screen, but his eyes aren't following the action on it. There he sits a while looking into the distance, and then speaks:" Most Ricks don't give a shit ab-EURGHP-out their Mortys and just go where ever the fuck they want. But I'm pretty sure you just want to know what the few spoilt prats get to experience, like entire planets made of diamond, or the land of a million red waterfalls. Right?"

"I umh-" I stumble on my words and regroup my thoughts for a moment:" I ju-just don't yet understand how the whole, uh, Rick and Morty thing works I guess. So- so where do most of them go?" He assesses me a moment, and then answers:" Some go to this place called the Citadel, where loads of Ricks and Mortys hang. It's a government run by Ricks, kind of. But I think it's just a cesspool of elitist shitheads flinging feces at walls like monkeys, trying to see what sticks over their massive napoleon complexes. But really it depends on the Rick. What sorta jobs he does and shit."

I nod getting the impression that all Mortys are wet towels like me. "So. Uh. What do you do then, going Mortyless and all? I mean uh- I'm sorry. That came out wrong didn't it." I stumble through the sentence like a kindergartener. At the mention of his Morty his jaw tightens. It should make me sad, but honestly it's just damn sexy. I weigh in my head if I should just let him be when he doesn't answer ( and have a inside-the-head press conference to debate my morals in thinking him attractive), or press on. The first sounds tedious- into the traaaash it goes. "I'm-I.. uh. I just never really had a Rick, so uh. I think I'm just like those Citadel(?) people now, see-seeing if shit sticks."

He stares again. This time he really looks at me, like he sees something beyond the physical. I want to squirm like a guilty child, but can't let go of his stare even for a blink. I end up twisting my hands together on my lap instead of the full on butt shimmy I really want to do. I hear mum chuckle in the other room. He's still looking at me. He blinks slowly and returns to looks at the tv, all fucking casual. My hand twisting intensifies.

Once he has found a chanel he likes (telenovela with trunk people) , he finally answers: "I deal things to people that don't have access to cross dimensional technology. Like rare plant parts and shit. Some of it legal, some less so. My Morty … he took some speech therapy at this fancy institution. It cost a shit ton. Had to get that cash baby." The word 'baby' is said in the same monotone as the rest, adding to my discomfort.

Mum emerges from the kitchen with our wine glasses from dinner, and a fresh bottle.

"Did it work?" she asks Rick while setting the things in her hands on the sofa table. Rick accepts when she offers him his glass, still looking at the tv:" Yeah, but not really. The do-EURPH-ctor said returning to school always worsened it. I thought it might be a load of bullshit, but who knows. It did improve after a few years. But Beth-" he turns to her "-don't spend your hard earned money on it. Let Morty be Morty. Most Beths never even try. You're not a shit mother for not try-EEEURP-ing." They have a tender moment of bonding, and I let it roll out. Whatever makes Mum happy.

An hour later of making fun of the fact that movie tropes are apparently universal, and three bottles down, Mum excuses herself and goes to bed.

I doubt Rick's drunk, even though he drank the most. He's sipping from his flask and pointing out things on screen. I have gotten myself a blanket and probably look like a burrito. Mom has to get up early, but I'm no stranger to sleeplessness. I estimate I have a good five hours of awake time.

"Jeesus Morty! You scared the shit out of me with those ice cold toes! Are you even alive? I've felt corpses that are warmer." He exclaims and wraps his long finger around my sneaky toes looking for warmth under his legs. I chuckle maniacally and press my icy finger against his neck. He doesn't fret like normal people. He doesn't even flinch. He just closes his eyes and his mouth becomes a tight line. Oh shit...

He doesn't open his eyes, just starts massaging my feet. Fuck. He knows all the sweet spots. He presses his calloused index finger between my big toe and the next, and finds a perfect little button that says 'moans'. I completely lose my shit, and just melt deeper into my blanket and make the most wanton noise. He stops for a moment, peels back part of the blanket to reveal my face. And oh does he stare. He's hard to read, but as he presses the button again, and I very much without shame moan, his lids gain weight. He opens his mouth a few times like a fish before talking: "I… Another day."

I'm unable to scream in frustration as I'd want, because jeesh he just lost his family. And also it sounds like a promise of return. It'll taste sweeter when I'm all pent up.

"Ye-yeah, I get that," I really try not to sound too disappointed. Not sure I manage tho. "Yeah," he says, and gets up. He turns to me on the doorway and gives me a heavy lidded blink. I return it, and wait for him to close the garage door.

I drag my ass up, and become all too aware of my raging hard-on. "Oh god," I mutter to myself and grin as I press the off button on the remote. I drag my blanket back up to my bed and hide my sinful ass under it. This'll be one fantastic wank.


	3. Over lapping effects

In the morning I find myself rather helplessly stuck in the bath. It's one of the weird mornings that I get stuck with a vigorous boner, and am helpless in terms of getting rid of it. I can for the tenth time start fantasizing about whatever, and have the ideas become slowly so graphic that even I lose interest. But not the fucking boner. Jesus, can I just cut it off? I think of the scalpel piercing the topmost layer of skin at the base. I take a blissfully shuttering butterfly of a breath, as blood pours down my thighs. Then the scalpel with one swift motion cuts the rest clean off. I suppress a scream of horror and loose the pink haze, but not the shit-cock-god-damn-mother-fucking boner. Should I just duct tape it? Or maybe I'll take a pill and sleep it off. But it's already two o'clock, and mum wanted me to help do the laundry after dinner. Oh what the hell. I get out of the bath, and wash my hair with the showerhead, while letting the soapy water drain out. I dry up with two towels, then wrap them both on my waist, and dart back to my room through the thankfully empty hallway. Good. Now only the houseplants know how deprived I am.

I write a sticky note saying :" not feeling great, took a Mirtazapine. Sorry, I'll vacuum tomorrow," and stick it on the outside of the door. I then do just what I said I would. In bed I think for the first time about the fact that I drank last night, so really shouldn't be taking these pills. Can't be bothered to go vomit. I'll chanse it. I watch some videos, and feel the soothing heaviness of limbs. Yeah. I needed this… Fuck you boner.

By the time I wake up it's midnight. My phones screen burns my retinas. I get up real slow, feeling like I'm six pints in. Takes a while to decipher which way is up, and where to place my legs if I want to get to the closet. By the time my loose pyjama pants are on, I think I've got it figured out. I stumble towards the fridge downstairs as a man on a mission, codename 'that lengthwise halved chocolate pudding'.

I enjoy my treat with a way too big serving spoon, while leaning against the wall at the backyard. I have a comforter from the living room on my shoulder. I listen to the silence of night, what with a few noisy neighbors, it's really quite lovely. I look at the unkempt field of wild flowers slowly swaying in the evening breeze. Some bugs are yelling 'fuck me' in their midst, and I listen to their desperation unfazed. They're just part of the white noise, just like me.

Rick slides through the door, as smoothly as the moved glass on its railings. He sits a bit away from me, and carefully crosses his legs. He reeks of alcohol. Don't blame the guy.

He relaxes against the wall like it's just another sofa: "Beth wanted me to che-EURPH-ck on you once you woke up." I nod into the night. "So whatcha thinking kiddo?" he asks. No one has ever asked me that quite so sincerely, so why the fuck not answer :"My place in the world." He makes a 'ahh'-sound and then points at a point left of the moon:" I once od'd on one of the planets around that sun. It- it really was quite a literal shit show. Shittinng my self and vomiting simult-EOURPH-eneously all the way to the hospital. Sum- My Summer had gotten worried after two weeks, and found my spare portalgun. I was a real idiot leaving my next location marked on my notepad in plain view. It took her another two days of vigorous searching to find me. But by then I was already knocking at the gates of oblivion. I slipped into a coma for a week. Took another year of recovery. My body is getting too old for that shit. Fucking never forgave her for going through my things, and refused to thank her. Fuck..."

"Are you uh trying to give me perspective or something?" I ask. He humms: "Don't really know, just talking I guess. Sharing my experiences and shit, like they say you're supposed to. Tho I'm 99% sure they talk about sibling death and break ups, not overdosing in a shit hole alien motel."

I stare into space: "I can't go into high buildings. The urge to jump is too strong. So I've told everyone I'm afraid of heights." He snorts. We stay in a comfortable silence for quite a while, till I ask him:" did you ever get lonely on your trips?"

He has produced a tiny bong out of his lab coat, and is prepping it while he answers:" I don't mind the loneliness. Because I know exactly what I like, and not to br-ARBH-ag, unlike most people I don't just toss off, I do foreplay and shit, and really make love to myself. The years alone between random hookups have made me quite the masterful Rick player."

"Have you ever… with-with other Rick's?" I ask unashamedly curious. He has jumped subjects like a man of a burning building, no remorse. I really don't mind.

He laughs:" Shit yeah. The problem is that we're all too selfish to concentrate on one of us. It's like trying to make two bulls fighting - of the same territory mind you- fuck. It works but it'll be fucking angry fucking and they both stab each other in the back with their horns -if just a little bit- constantly. Jeesh what a shit metaphor."

I'm still riding on a med mellow, and get blank when trying to conjure a better one. He's finished with his craft work project and looks at me expectantly. I nod. He smiles in jest:" Not everyday you meet a Morty who is- who's cool with Meds, alcohol, and weed. Weirdo. What else you into?" While talking he has got up and is pointing me in. I follow him to the garage. When the door is closed I take a puff of moist garage air:" I've tried a lot. But those are my drugs of choice really. Not many people know me so if I do get a group invitation and go to some house party, not a single person gives a shit if I get fucked up. And also it's way too easy to buy drugs on campus, and e-even easier to hide them in this house. It's a real secret hoarders dream."

"Maybe that's why almost every Beth stays here," he quips and lights up. I take it from him, and like in a romantic comedy our fingers graze. It even feels funny at the bottom of my belly, just like they always describe it. He breaths out a beautiful swirl of smoke, as I inhale. Then he inhales as I exhale. This peaceful rhythm goes on for a while, only the bubbling water breaking the silence. When just ashes are left we have found ourselves onto the makeshift bed. He places the glass ornament aside and kicks back full length. I lean on my knees, while his legs go under mine. We make a perverse cross of some kind if looked at from above.

I almost see firecrackers, and melt in dizzying bliss. I find my way next to him, and lean my face on his chest without thought or shame. I just need a person right now. He doesn't comment, just moves to pet my hair. It's really quite innocent if we technically weren't related. I can hear his sped up heartbeat echoing in his lungs.

He sighs, sounding strained:" Morty you gotta- you need to know that I'm not that regular either." "Ok,"I mumble Into his lab coat. "No Morty," he says in a demanding voice, takes a bit of space between us to look me in the eye: "If you wanna go-like really go down this road with me, I need you to understand my needs."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Just tell me," I say with sincerity.

"I don't think I'll remember to mention everything, so I'll just write you a list. You can mark what you th-EURP-ink of each of them and return it to me and we'll see if this'll work out."

"I don't need it to work out," I whisper the truth just sneaking out without consent, so I elaborate:" I-I just… It feels good and I'm just enjoying all I'm getting no strings attached. I mean how-to how the fuck do I know what I'll feel in a week. I'm just a raging hormone machine. So just easy, ok?" He looks at me weirdly proud, and traces my jaw with his index. He smiles, staring at my lips. He goes all Casanova on my ass and whispers :"amore", while tracing the left corner of my lips with his thumb. He comes closer, our breath dancing together: "If we're as compatible as I think, you'll never want to turn back," and then he places the softest of kisses on my lower lip. God how I need more. It takes a lot of mustering up courage, but I reach out and grab his jaw, bringing our lips fully together. He makes a soft appreciative sound that vibrates through my body like molten gold. He bites my lip playfully and too soft for my liking. I straddle him and deepen the kiss for a while, but soon creep a trail of kisses across his sharp cheekbone and let my warm breath tickle his ear for a while, then whisper:"Harder." He abides fast as lightning, like his finger was lingering on the trigger the entire time. He first attacks that soft patch of skin where my neck meets my shoulder. It starts with hard nips, but slowly devolves into sucking and biting. He uses the sharp corners of his crowns like a fucking pro. He moves his mouth ever so slightly up the expanse of skin leading to my jaw, biting and sucking like he's looking for something. And shit does he ever find it. He applies pressure to a spot with a combination of a shallow vein and sore muscles. "Jesus," I whisper between pants. Meanwhile he pets the other shoulder, every now and again running a nail against my collarbone or adams apple. I'm a moaning mess, just about able to hold myself up with my elbows. His free hand is trailing down my bare back, with the softest of touches. That doesn't last long, as like one wave of sensation he bites down on my neck like raw venison, digs his nails around my throat and scratches a long gash shoulder to hip. I short-circuit and grind against him instinctively. Then we both take a moment to draw air, as it feels way too fucking nice to get some friction. I roll my hips, and the movement moves new air on to the long stripe of broken skin on my back, so while losing all sense of being human, grind again from the sensation. Rick moves both his hands onto my hips. The command to strip him, comes out between leisurely kisses to my jaw. I pull back and let him tell me what piece of clothing comes next. Too soon I'm greeted by a naked man on the bed, pulling me by the hand closer, stopping my admiring before I even get to start. "Another time. Strip," He commands and I shimmy myself bare. He appreciates the view heavy-lidded. Then follows an invisible line, with his long rough padded right index, all the way from my chest to the beginning of my barely there happy trail. He dips his fingertip into my naval momentarily, then following its edge to where my leg meets torso. The hand is close to where I want it, I think of it as a tease. That is until my inner thigh is marked with long sharp nails. A shuttering breath later, I reopen my eyes. He's looking at me with such intensity I might turn diamond. I feel like I'm also worth that human sized diamond, as he flips us around. The beds size makes it a bit of a hassle. I don't mind, cause now he's on top. It feels right. It looks right. Also he seems to be hung like a horse, damn.

I get a quick peck on the lips before a trail of kisses and nibbles moves the man on top of me lower and lower. Needing something to ground myself with I grab his left shoulder. He passes my painfully hard cock once more, going lower. First he just blows air on the fresh gashes. My breath hitches, but then he kisses the open flesh, and I see my knuckles on his shoulder turning white. I scream in a combination of frustration, pain and pleasure. "God you sound nice," he murmurs against the wound, making me whimper. I want to touch myself so damn bad. Or literally any friction would do. Rick slaps away my hand that's creeping towards jackpot:" You come when I make you." I don't want to listen to him, but then he growls with a deep well practiced bass, and it's impossible to not obey my superior. I bare him my neck once more and he comes up to bite it. "Gotcha," I think and grind our bare glories together. He is taken by surprise, but just accepts where this is going, and pins my hands above my head with one of his. I let him take over as he wraps both of us in his other hand and starts a rhythm. It's dry, with only precome as lubricant, but neither cares as we find a good pace. I look in awe at his blissful expressions as he rides on the same tidal wave.

My moans turn into begs as my release starts pooling up. Nothing legible, but he knows what the fuck I want. Rick leans on his other elbow and adjusts the pressure of his hand, then stealing my lips into a ravishing kiss. We moan into the others mouth in between series of faster strokes. He bites my lip piercing the sensitive skin on the inside, and I leave earth.

He must have finished too at some point as he slumps, forehead heavily resting on mine. We just pant for a long time, not moving. He slowly releases me and goes back down to lick me clean. What a tongue. He gets to my sensitive tip, and it feels uncomfortably good. Soon the moment passes and he just nuzzles the base of my cock affectionately. We stay like that a long while, coming back to our senses. "How was it?" he asks, voice low. "Thank you," I answer unable to procure something better. My hand finds his hair, and begins to pet the coarse unruly wilderness. He turns to look at me with that dumb post-orgasmic bliss face you see in shitty romance movies starring Meg Ryan. It suits him. "You think you could take more?" he asks eyes gleaming yet heavy. I weigh my answer for just a moment:" Fuck yeah." He grins at my answer and comes back up, kissing me again. "Good. Don't think I could stop."


	4. A list and a plan Why not?

I wake in my bed feeling light as a feather and smiling. Oh Jesus, what a hormone rush. I check a patch of public hair at the corner of my 'v' that I just shaved yesterday. It has already grown a bunch. Maybe just to avoid shaving, I'll stop this nonsense with Rick.

I carefully stretch my lower back muscles, and the backs of my legs, to avoid some of the soon arriving muscle ache. I choose a pair of light blue baggy sweatpants, that ride just a little teasingly on the hips, and a longer wife beater. I feel the air in the room for a minute, and pull a cardigan -yes the white trash kind, fuck off- on top. Summer gave it to me since I once leant it, and after that one time -seven times more. I don't care that it's shaped for a curvier body, it's comfy as a soft ass cheek.

I showered in the evening, can't be bothered now. I put my phone in the cardigans pocket, and go brush my teeth. I have that horrible post-hookup breath from swapping saliva, so perhaps some mouthwash too.

As I'm washing my face, Rick (in dad's old bathrobe) opens the door, stops surprised, and then smiles humoured:" sorry, thought both you guys locked the door during your morning routine."

"Is she off already?"

"Yeah"

"Well I'll have you know the only reason I lock the door sometimes is that I don't want mom to see me touching my bishop in a turtleneck. I don't even lock it wh-when I'm taking a shit, because she doesn't care. She's never even really home, and there's nobody else... used to be." As I say the last part he finds my gaze in the mirror. He looks chill, and not horrified by that statement. Perhaps he really is going to stay. He takes out his phone from his robe, to my mortification from a pocket similar ( in placement and size)to my cardigan. He looks at me and presses a few things on screen. My phone buzzes. "What is it?" I ask prepping my toothbrush. He turns the screen at the mirror. It looks to be some kind of list. "It'sthelist. Got your number from Beth mind you," he says. I form an 'oh,' before sticking the loaded brush in my mouth. He leans on the doorframe and looks at me closely while I glide the foaming brush on my porcelains. When I come back up from gargling under the faucet, he's behind me. He strokes the side of my hip, all the way to the prominent top tip of the bone. He feels the smooth edge of the hard skinny surface, like he's feeling me under the skin. "You're so skinny these make you look curvy." He murmurs lips on my scalp. I smile at the compliment: " Not to call my sister hot, bu-but she has that same thing, yet unlike mum and her, I don't got no booty. Makes me ha-have weird dimensions or something." He laughs into my hair. "To be an insecure teenager," he whispers knowing I'll hear. "I really am not a teen anymore,Grandpa,"I shoot back. He pretends hurt for a few seconds before resting his chin on my shoulder:" I'll have you know I would outrun you in a race by miles, you cardiac arrest risk-group/couch potato/growing alcoholic." I note he has quite a stubble. "Uh, Real cold Rick, you really hit the nail on the head there. Su-sure did!" I reply over dramatically. Through the mirror I see the corners of his eyes wrinkle. It looks like spidery legs pressing down on his skin, while the body is the hollow at the corner where all the legs meet with the eyelid, cheek and brow. It's the most brutally honest lace ever sewn.

He sees me looking and raises a brow. With the side of my mouth I kiss his cheekbone: "Admiring the truth of your face old man." He looks quizzed. I like that look. Makes him feel human.

"Weirdo," he mumbles. "Well, uh, really we both are by definition," I muse, and turn to return to my room. He catches me by the mouth and pins between the counter and him. I laugh, and try to leave to read the message, now dying of curiosity. He makes a disappointed gruffy noise, and I grant him a final kiss out of pity( not because I'm dying for one too). "Aww , Morty. Won't enjoy the morning after with me? It's always the fucking best," he acts his part as a good puppy. "You're just afraid once I readthatlist, I'll run away scared,"I say jokingly, but am taken aback when I'm met with seriousness. I stand still in the doorway one foot already out. Our gazes flicker and assess the other. I close the distance once more. I place my palms on his chest and look at my toes:"If you really think that, then let's have breakfast first," I say, and tame his gravity defying hair slightly:" But ,uh you know, Rick you seem like a fucking cool guy and-and mom I'm sure is growing to love your presence. I wan- I want you to stay even if this experiment doesn't work out."

"Ye-yeah Reeeaal classy Morty, showing me wrong right when I called you young and insecure. Making me look like a real piece of - piece of shit Morty, good job," he murmurs mouth almost on mine. I smirk, loving the backhanded compliment. Suits him real damn well to deal them. "Am I being a uncontrollable delinquent? Should I be punished?" I ask with fake innocence, taking a wild guess what's on the list. Judging by the predatory face he makes, it's a goaaaaaal everyone: "Daddy issues, virgin whore complex, or just like punishing? Oh, oh !! or pederasty with a sadistic streak?" He laughs and shakes his head: "Read the list Morty- after breakfast!" he stops me from taking out my phone immediately.

"Fi-fine. Shall I walk you down the stairs to see you won't- don't break your hip, or whatever the fuckpeople of your agesuffer from," I say offering my elbow. He instead shoots a portal on the wall:" why walk when I'm a mother fucking genius." I gotta give it to him:" Oh, who am I to fight a man with superior intellect. Woe is me just a poor dumb whore walking." We grin at one another and step through as strong standing individuals.

I fry us some small pancakes and whip up a quick batch of fresh jam from frozen mixed berries, just like mum showed me. We eat half outside, on the doors rail, wanting to let some fresh air in. He's on a decorative pillow, munching his cakes all concentrated. They seem to have passed inspection. "This is not the best context I can think for these nice berries you made," Rick states not lifting his gaze. "What hap- happened to reading the list?" I ask studying him in the sunlight. His hair gains ethereal qualities when strong light shines through it, and his eyes become lighter in colour. He reminds me of a husky puppy totally not blending to a jolly field of summery goodness. "It won't be long now anyhow," he states matter of factly. I nod and poke last pieces of pancake in my mouth. I get up and leave him looking good at the door.

As I place my dishes in the washer, I feel heavy. Shit. "What happened to no strings? No, fuck, stop being sappy and get this shit done," I tell myself silently and head upstairs.

I take a fresh piece of paper from my personal printer, find a working pen, and open the message. At the top Rick has added:"If you want me to let you know beforehand about something, or stuff like that, write it down."This right off the bat eases my building tension. I have to get super real with myself and check every time I place something in the category of full consent, that it's not just from a hormonal want to please. I have to Google some of the lingo he uses, but every time it turns out I've seen it in a porn at some point. It takes me two hours of wrist cramping work to get my stance on all of his kinks written down. I take a picture of the paper full of my awful scribble, and let my phone sort it out into legible form. I send the text to Rick. He sees the message immediately.

I go lie on my bed to clear my buzzing head. I'm horny and overheated. A cool shower would do wonders. Can't be bothered. I go get some OJ with ice, and don't see Rick on my way. He must be in the garage. I go back up to give him space.

When I haven't gotten a reply in ten minutes, I channel my antsy behaviour into schoolwork. Before I know it mum has returned.

"Hi mum. Want help?" I ask entering the kitchen. She gives me some potatoes to peel and a kiss on the cheek. We work together on food, and talk about the going ons of the neighborhood, like any ol' friday night. It feels just as normal when Rick enters. We exchange glances while mom is uncorking the wine. He nods and smiles. I take it that's a green light. It's hard not to all of a sudden look super happy, and jump in his arms like a schoolgirl. I manage to compose myself and just say:" Oh, hi Rick. We're having potatoes and pork belly!" He makes an approving noise and sits at the table. Mom pours him a glass and they exchange some kind words.

As we start eating Rick gets all excited and crazy:" Oh Beth, I got this brilliant idea today for a new invention, but I need your approval." "Oh?" She asks not really sounding wary. "Yeah, I've been playing around with with this Blurppian technology, that allows for some super realistic gaming, and I've been dying to test it out." "But?" she asks getting slightly impatient. "Well the machines take a lot of space, so I'd like to build a cellar under the garage… And also I want Morty to help me with this project. I feel like I missed out on some real fun, not involving my original Morty in my adventures.. and this would be a great way to safely experience the world without being in any actual danger. It also would really help a bunch," Rick says plucking moms heart strings like a jazz musician. Beth takes a sip of wine thoughtfully: "If the machines, and the building of this thing it's self won't make too much noise, I see no reason to say no." Rick smiles with sunshine," I think that this - this'll be a real experience for Morty being my little assistant. Maybe he'll help me make a whole new kind of game. Not that we need the money, but I'm sure the skills would help Morty in the future get a nice living in the gaming industry." Mom turns to me:" Well Morty, this is kind of up to you. What do you think?" I have to think fast on my feet:" Uh, yeah. Me and Rick talked a bit before y-you came home. I'm really all-all for it." Mom smiles like a prize winning dog owner, and nods vehemently: "Uh-huh. I really like this plan guys. I think this'll turn out nicely. Thank you Rick." She and Rick hold hands over the table for a moment, until mom takes my hand too, and we sit there like peace loving Teletubbies. What a cluster fuck of smiley faces. Rick tells mom he wants to show me some plans, and she dismisses us happily.

Once we're in the garage, Rick leans on the closed door, and lets out a throaty laugh. He pulls me into a bone crushing embrace. "So uh what's this plan really about Rick?" I ask face burrowed in his labcoat. He smells like pungent sweat and alcohol. I weirdly enjoy it. His sweat has a tangy sweet quality that attracts me like a honeybee.

He runs his hands through my tight curls:" We're gonna just what I told your mom. But I made this program back in my old under the garage lair, that let me explore all my fucked up fantasies. I mean I'll probably make a game too just to keep up appearances, but Morty you gotta understand that in this house we simply cannot play out the things I want. So we need either a shit ton of money and a off the planet mansion with full staff," I interrupt him:" Or we use a simulation?" He kisses my forehead:" Yeah. But not just any simul-AAURG-tion baby, a Blurppian simulation. Not like that cheap ass tech the Zigerion use, but a hyper realistic simulation. I can control everything. And once I'm done tweaking it so that there's a guest mode… Yeah" We stand there a while just enjoying the moment and enjoy the others body heat. I'm super excited, and really fucking into his plan.

Beth knocks on the door and we hear her muffled 'goodnight', and in unison we yell the same back. A few moments he waits, listening to her movements through the door, and then turns back to me:" Wanna get high Morty?" How could I say no, when he looks at me like that? " Why the shit not."

I close my eyes, and with my eyelids, the world tips 45 degrees backwards and I go onto an endless loop, falling through space, weightless. I feel safe and complete, with Rick right next to me. Why the shit not indeed.


	5. A test

I wake up. Oh wait, I did that already today, so holy shit this simulation is way too fucking realistic! ...Dude... The nest like bed underneath me is the softest of silks to my touch. I can taste the air I'm breathing is a little bit like sour cherries. Around me is a room full of cat-men. They're hanging around in a lazy fashion, on furniture much like the silk I'm on. Really acting a lot like furniture them self. Everything is either golden or white, even the cats. A lazy morning sun is basking us in a hug. "Okay,"I say to myself quietly, just slowly taking it in. The sky is a pastel-blue cotton candy cloud perfection. I look at myself. I'm wearing a longsleeves-and-a-turtleneck-bodysuit, woven from soft wool, that hides my ( naked feeling) body's every curve 0%. My hair is braided against my scalp, and oh...Holy shit, I just twitched my ear! I even feel a bit taller than...Myself. Holy shit this is happening! I even have a small stumpy tail.

Amidst a personal crisis one of the cat-men gets up, in his smart white velvet suit, and hands me a list. But he doesn't really hand it to me, but holds to it as I already have my grasp on it, and whispers with a smile:" Ring the bell to receive your mail, brother." He points with his other furry long paw-like hand at a mocha colored bell hanging on his neck. I obviously do what he asks, because -real talk- it seems like fucking fun.

I open a beautiful manilla envelope with an overly flourished seal topped with a silk bow. I bite back a chuckle at the grandiosity of it all.

As I pull out a letter, the postman has already disappeared into the sea of purring brethren.

"Forgot the script- improvise. Feel uncomfortable- think of fruits really intently (test this immediately, when closing the letter). Want to stop or pause the system, including me, - do the same with veggies.

Everything is fake, even the things you feel on your body. Embrace the character. You're safe. Seeyouagain on the other side."

I read it once more, and try the fruit thing. It makes everything but me freeze. In the air floats more instructions, and I test it out, and things unpause. Neat.

I start walking through the room towards an open balcony. It opens to a courtyard full of pastel coloured plants. Nothing really has anything prominently coloured. A pale canvas to paint on.

I make my way through the garden following metal signs telling me what part of campus each road goes to. After a tall row of bushes I emerge onto a small pale blue brick building. A few marble benches on front are occupied by more cat-men. They are deep in hushed conversation, as not to disturb the purring of the white doves. They pay me no mind as I walk past and enter.

An assistant feline behind his desk, tells me to go to the end of the hallway on the third floor, and wait for my turn. I promptly do as told and stand there waiting. The door tells me this is the principal's office. I adjust the garment to fit snugly between my thighs. A big flat clock is ticking on top of the staircase, filling the air with a soft echoey clicking sound. Then I just stare at my feet. I glance at the clock, a minute has passed. My tail wags impatiently, making a soft thump every now and again as it hits the wall behind me. I look at my new feet some more, trying to find a pattern in the pale fur coating.

The door opens, and without lifting my eyes, carefully in a low position along the walls, make my way to a cushion in front of the massive gleaming golden desk. As I sit down I can see his feet. They adorn platform high heeled white leather knee-high boots, and behind them flows down a white cape with slits, that also veils his groin. I can see a single pawed leg of a wooden chair behind all of it. The paws have nails.

"So young mister!" I hear him say with more authority than a dictator. Chills run down my spine, at his bass-baritone. I say nothing, just stay low. He gets up from the chair, and I hear him walk around me and stop between me and the door. No exit. "I've heard what you've been saying to your teachers… It is now going to stop. I do not care if you are legally drugged while you say things like that, for I will not tolerate such behaviour."

"Wh-what is my punishment, sir?" I ask intimidated as shit.

He does not answer, as I'm getting grabbed from behind and dragged away. I steal a glance at his face, and see god.

I'm dragged into the courtyard and a giant bell is rung. I'm placed face down on the ground. I taste dust, as the coarse sand presses against my cheek. I don't move.

Eventually it sounds like there are hundreds of spectators around. It all starts with my hands. They're tied individually, then crossed at my back and tied together. My collar bones poke the ground. Then both my legs get separately packaged together ankle to ass. I hear something clicking to place and I'm lifted off the ground to dinner table height. My body sags from the middle making my spine hurt. It gets tied soon too, with a softer rope. I see a large circle of evenly spaced cat-men of all kinds. I see their legs at least.

A language is spoken that I do not understand, but it sounds influential and is making the crowd cheer.

I hear a tearing sound as the fabric at my crotch is ripped, the crowd is silenced. One of the cat-men steps forward. He is unclothed. I do not see his face. Without seremony, my legs are pried apart. I feel it slide against my opening, once, then twice, both adding to the amount of slick he's covered in. Then with one swift motion he pulls himself by my hips to be completely seated inside me. He's way too much to handle, and my seams are giving way. I feel how lacerations begin to form as he makes the most miniscule of movements. I cry rivers unashamed. He's too deep, bruising my insides, and poking organs. As I begin to scream I feel a set of hands keep my jaw open, and position me to straighten my throat, to create the best line of entry. The one filling my ass holds onto me tighter, and once my mouth is in line with the new phallus, he shoves me forward, forcing the entire thing all the way down my throat to kiss the top of my stomach. They begin a leisurely pace immediately, making me move in the hanging position nimbly just tohisliking. I desperately gasp for air, with my scorching lungs as I'm given a chance to breathe right at my limit of starting to pass out. Everything is on fire and my insides feel like a pool of jellied pain. They pound into me ceaselessly, and I want more. It takes me a moment, but once the absolute fear of not wanting to suffocate, subsides as I realise it's not bad for me to pass out. I let go of worry, and just enjoy getting filled to the brim and having my head buzz from a need for oxygen and adrenaline. A bell rings.

I feel the one taking care of my front starting to lose it. He starts messing up the rhythm, and increases in size momentarily, stretching me so bad he's pushing against my spine. I see stars for two seconds and then he starts filling my stomach from the inside. It's like drinking without swallowing, and as he pulls out slowly and my body tries to return normal, I feel the warm liquid sedating my hunger. The one behind, is not allowed to finish as a punishment for not being on time. I hang there vomiting semen, feeling hollow. My bile smells like peppermint, but tastes awful. The circle is silent and still as the people working on me retreat and blend back in.

A needy whine escapes me, and like a thundering lightning, there is a crack against my back. I feel woolen threads from my clothing get imbedded into my back. The open wounds make me scream so hard I barely notice the long spray of blood tarnishing the previously pure world around me. My blood looks neon. No one is moving, so once I get on top of my nearly uncontrollable sobs of pain, I follow it with my gaze all the way up to their gently smiling faces. Bright red spots of me stand out on their pale coat like christmas tree candles."Not worthy!" I hearhimshout, and another crack lacerates me. I scream feeling blood pool on my stomach in streams from my back, and starting to form droplets and slowly drip a puddle on the ground. A string of spit hangs from my mouth, as the abused muscles can't properly function. He comes to stand in front of me finally in view. I don't dare look him in the eye. He pulls into view a cabinet of mirrors, and pushes it so my head's inside it. I see people's feet behind myself now, as well as my stomach. It looks like a hammer horror movie as I follow the drip with my gaze. I dare not look at my face.

I feel getting flipped over. My view is now of everyone's top halves. Rick moves to stand between my legs. He puts down on the ground a wriggling large bag. I can't see him open it, but I feel the long cold tentacles wrap around my legs. They're slick, not suction cupped. The first one to find my entry feels small in my rectal cavity, and it's cold is soothing on the forming bruising. But it doesn't stop going deeper, and soothing is replaced by discomfort and muscle spasms. In the mirror I see Rick looking at my bloody stomach, looking for something, and then I see it too. I see the tentacle moving beneath the surface, going at a snail's pace, but I already feel my entire torsos skin start to tighten. A second one joins in, and I can soon see it coiling around the previous one, at a shallow bend. I drool and I cry, still needing more. My penis stands erect, dripping and untouched. The first narrower tentacle reaches my stomach, where it stops moving, as does the other. A new tentacle joins them, this one the definition of girthy, slides in with no resistance, despite out sizing everything previous. It doesn't go deep, and soon stops as well. Anticipation gathers, as a big fist size lump travels up the first tentacle. It looks like a mole digging a tunnel, moving in me, and ripping me to shreds from within. We follow it's long slow torturous travel. Then it reaches the stomach , and forms into a fattened tip. All at once everything moves into motion. I'm shook like a ragdoll as they move in and out of me at a savage pace. The inverted blowjob, seeps stomach acid freely into the intestinal tract, making it slick with it and residual semen. Admidst trying to stay conscious, I see Rick raise a sharp surgeons scalpel, and cut me open, making my insides slosh to the ground, heavy with unnatural weight…I see cats running to get a bite, and the tentacles still moving inside me- outside me…

Groggy I awake. The machine humms around us and opens the lid. Rick sits up and stretches. Then he locks eyes with me, his pupils blown, and kisses me. Together we wash off the evidence in an old decontamination area. As I'm scrubbing his back with soap, I think: "Maybe I could be converted, if he started a religion."


	6. Mr Darkrange

I have arrived at the Darkrange castle late last night by carriage, which my kind host paid for in advance. I had not seen him before tonight, for he is a lonely, but busy man. So far the evening has been spent going through finance papers, and the late night meal, could not have come at a better time.

"Are you enjoying your fo-OOORH-d, my friend?" Mr. Darkrange asks, while lifting a fork full of skewered eastern delicacies toward his immaculate mouth. He is impatient for an answer, judging by his fast nail tapping against the table. The fingers- and by extension the hand attached to them- are by no means an eyesore, creating an odd sort of offbeat rhythm. In fact, I wouldn't call them that by a mile. The fingers are long and lean, just like the dark wine red nails. The joints are slightly bulky, making the pale flesh look like albino willow branches. They're securing in place four large rings of unknown pale metal, and precious stone, each made to be uneasy to look at, with harsh sleek shiny lines of metal caging the stone. The way the frame of the jewelry prevents any light from shining through the stones, makes one feel very trapped, like one becomes the futile struggle of the light itself.  
"Are you listening to me?" he asks displeased. I meet his eyes, and cower:" I must begin your pardon sir, but you have the most captivating rings. What beautiful craftsmanship." I stumble at these fancy words, but the speech filter hides my stutter. The words fade out as I say them, on an invisible wall between us. I'm basically looking straight in his eyes. Oh if real life was this easy.  
He takes a sip of wine, and gives his rings a glance:" Yes, indeed. Quite out of this world... Enjoying your food?" I look at the plate full of herby four legged game, and answer:" I must admit I'm used to more of a humble type of food. I thank you for such welcoming accommodations. Your home and staff, are so very kind to me. I spent all morning and noon in your library. It could be a small castle on it's own."  
He smiles at me tightly down his nose, white hair of his ponytail bouncing gently with words: "Your flattery is deserved. The library is a family heirloom, that took generations to procure. It is my most precious property, and the true joy of my life." He doesn't show any prominent emotion whilst saying this, as has he not all evening.  
We fall into a silence and I empty my plate, the rich fatty taste still lingering long after. "Desert will be served in the cigar room shortly," a butler announces. He shows me the way to a small pleasant space with armchairs and heavy velvet drapes covering the walls. A large candelabra in the middle gives all around a soft feel. He shows me to a dark green leather seat, as he chooses the one opposite. He sits legs crossed in his body hugging black gown. The ruffled long hem of it is made of fabric so light, it moves in the non-existent breeze. He takes an opened box of cigars from a member of the staff, chooses two to his liking and hands it back. The anonymous woman closes the door behind her.  
When we are once alone, he hands me a cigar, already lit at the tip. Between us is an ashtray, that he promptly uses to discard the minimal ash forming at the tip of his. It seems more habit than need. Then for the first time he relaxes, and finds a good position in his seat, making the leather creak. I feel as tho the eyes and ears of the house have turned away, for this private setting to occur.  
We fill the room with bittersweet curls of smoke, as I wait for him to start what ever conversation we're here for. "Your father is a diligent but old man, and now I see well why he has sent you on this trip in his stead… You have a good sense of just business," he says. The praise makes me sit a bit taller as I answer: "He really has passed the days of hard leighbour, but let me assure you, his absence is purely out of practicality. He has gone to Wien, to discuss with a new client. He will be back late august, and thus I'm covering all his calls back home." The first sign of emotion in the form of surprise crosses his face for a fraction of a moment :" Well you have certainly outperformed then. I shall write this to your father. You shall take the letter with." I nod. He takes a drag and changes the position of his legs, giving me a momentary glance at his pale, smooth and strong shin, through a slit on the side. I feel a fluster creeping up my neck. Our eyes meet, and I know he saw my gaze. He raises an elegant eyebrow but keeps his silence, letting me speak: "That would be the best of gifts."  
I follow him weighing me with his eyes. He takes yet another drag, as his gaze lingers on my thigh. He trails up lazily to the sliver of neck that's left bare by my dress shirt, and another drag. My own smoking has become uncoordinated, and I cough in punishment.  
He gets up while I'm clearing my pipes, and goes to pour himself whiskey to a crystal tumbler. He doesn't sit down afterwards, but leans on the armrest of his previous seat, taking a sip. Over the rim of the glass our eyes meet, and once more, I can feel myself reddening. He takes a step towards me, and stops right in front, so that the tips of our shoes meet. I see him raise the glass to my lips, and I drink what I'm given. The liquid is not whiskey to my surprise, but instead tastes metallic and rich. All too soon I feel the burn of whiskey, and am left baffled as to what I just drank. He looks at me swallowing through lowered lashes, and soon I also notice a small parting of the rosed lips.  
He wipes the corner of my mouth with the pinky of the hand holding the crystal. But I'm sure I couldn't possibly have anything there. He takes a drag, and the hand is retracted, if only to put the now empty tumbler next to the ashtray. He turns back, still towering over me, and blows the smoke on my face making my eyes feel dry as raisins. This reaction he smirks at. Mind you, just with the left corner of his mouth, and even then a miniscule amount.  
"If you want that letter, you shall do nothing to tarnish my good name for the remainder of your mortal life. And you will take what is given, without a cross word or lament, for that is my will. You should have no questions."  
I nod, my neck bent uncomfortably to meet his eyes. He takes a drag, assesses me momentarily, and then unceremoniously stubs the cigar on my shoulder. It crumbles as it burns through the thick fabric, soon searing my skin. My jaw is stilted as I bite back a cry. The pain goes right down my body making my toes curl, as the smell of burnt fiber and flesh reaches my nostrils. I have no questions, for I know my place and role.

He takes me to his bedchambers, and before I know it, I'm tied in a 'x'-shape from my ankles and my wrist. There is a mirror on the canopy, and I follow his every move. He does is it in a rehearsed manner. The position is easy to accept in my clothed state. He is drinking once more at the and of the luxurious bed, admiring his work. His eyes don't leave my body as the glass gets thrown on the carpet blindly. I shamelessly admire the lean body before me. For his age, he is almost too well preserved, and the body beneath the thin fabric seems toned, to the point of being predator like and… inhuman.  
He opens a drawer on his bedside, taking out a hand file, and leisurely begins to work on his index finger. I look closely, and see that he's forming a sharp point on the keratin. The nailpolish flakes, and falls on the bedding with the nail dust.  
Once he is happy with the results, he straddles me like a legless horse. The sharp nail is placed against my sternum. I take shallow breaths as not to disturb him, and out of fear.  
One at the time, the nail hooks one of the buttons on my shirt and undoes it. Faster than I previously thought possible, the undergarment is ripped in half as well. Now he lays his nail directly on my sternum, and the difference is vast. The impossibly sharp tip rest on top of the skin separating it from bone, and yet it feels like he's under the skin touching the white formation. I take a breath, and accompanied by a faint 'pop' the skin breaks. I bite my lip, holding back a surprised shout.  
He hasn't lifted the finger, and is letting the foreign object keep the wound open, while a small ring of crimson is forming around it. I see his nostrils flare, and a satisfied smile permanently form on his sensual yet thin lips, as he drags the finger lower. Like a plow going through a field, the nail breaks smooth surface, and brings up moist elements. It drops down at the lower edge of the bone, plummeting to softer skin on my belly. I want to scream, but cannot breathe. The entire free edge of the nail is embedded inside. He moves it just a bit, and I feel every micrometer of it, as it scratches the surfaces of my organs.  
Slowly, savouring each tiny movement, he opens a slit down to my naval. I taste blood, as I have pierced the inside of my cheeks. I feel a vein on my forehead thump.  
He reaches once again to the bedside table, and this time rings a small golden bell. Promptly a servant enters, and pushes a cart covered in a sheet. It stops right next to the bed, and the man leaves with a bow.  
Mr. Darkrange lifts it off gently with one hand, the other still in me. Underneath is domes like the ones our food was served under earlier. Beside four of these domes, there are a few instruments unknown to me. He picks them all at once, and drops all but one on the bed. The one he has in hand he lifts to the slit he has made and pries it open by attaching one hook inside, and one hook on skin. I cannot help the strained noise that escapes me. He immediately slaps me with the back of his hand, rings acting like a heavy knuckle iron, landing spot on at the side of my cheek. Then he applies all five rest of the instruments. I feel as I might crack a tooth as I grind my jaw.  
He then removes the lids on the cart, revealing bowls of precut fruits and berries. From top of the largest pile he takes a decorative lemon carved into a flower. It is brought on the opening with careful hands, as not to break it, then suddenly crushed. The juice sprays all over me, but mostly where I want it the most. Instinctively I press my body away from the pain, digging deeper into the satin. I'm rewarded another slap on the same side. This time it's accompanied by a wet feeling as half my face gets a citrusy dressing.  
The used up lemon gets discarded like the glass.  
Thanks to the mirror I see in gruesome detail how the juice in me mixes with the growing amount of blood in slow swirls. It's almost beautiful. Looking at myself I haven't noticed he has taken a handful of fruit, and am privy to this fact when they're dropped in the puddle, splashing blood everywhere in large droplets that shatter on impact. The bedding soaks it up instantaneously, leaving behind only moist patches.  
He looks in my eye, as he lowers his body between my legs, and leans down. He picks a blood covered grape with his teeth and eats it with a pleased cry. "Oh my god," he whispers braking character a bit, and slumping slightly. He is in ecstasy, as he picks another fruit and eats it followed by a new cry. This goes on 'till I'm almost empty. He hasn't let a single piece smudge his face even when his hands are covered in red. Even his lips are licked clean after every bite.  
Blood has by this point ran freely down my sides, and I'm close to losing consciousness. He notices this, or knew in advance. He crawls up my body, rubbing the instruments deeper. Once he has reached my face, he breathes on me a metallic breeze, and then he kisses me in the sweetest of ways. Perfect soft and pure, amidst my agony and the fight against unconsciousness. I know it can't last, and I'm proven right, as while his lips still linger on mine, he reaches in the opening and pushes with all his might until he has a grasp on my heart. The last thing I see while I scream out my lungs is him taking a bite of it.


	7. Shotgun wedding

Rick and I are fixing some sandwiches. I'm cutting tomatoes, while he stares at my fingers loosely curled around the smooth hilt of the knife. He's right behind me, radiating body heat like a… radiator. He smells like that bottle of vodka I saw him down a while ago. And man it was too fast for a mortal man. He has got the hiccups, and keeps wafting his specialty odor on my sensitive neck. The hairs at the nape of my neck are playing porcupines, and try protecting me from the deadly assault. I stop for a moment and turn subtly to look at him at the corner of my field of vision. He sways lightly and places one of his palms between us on my lower back. It's a dare. Mom could walk in any moment. He thinks I'll turn him down scared of consequences. I'll prove him wrong... Oh it's so on old man.  
I let him keep that hand where it rests. Heaven knows he might need it to stay upright. I return to the tomatoes. He gets bored after awhile of stalking my doings, and begins to fidget with the hem of my shirt. He brushes against the bare small of my back with his index, and I inhale with a loaded purpose. I feel his breath inching closer to my neck. I move to slice pickles, and stack the sannies with mayo as glue. As I place the de-crusted triangles on a plate his lips touch the tips of my baby hairs. I shiver and almost lose grasp of the plate. He hums a puff of warm air on me and I want to slap myself. Fucking touch me you old hag.  
So he does, slowly pressing a pair of just licked lips on me. I take a sandwich, discard the rest into oblivion, and turn to him. He places his free hand on the counter, the other still on my hem. He looks neutral, perhaps to seem more sober, as we look at one another. He opens his mouth, and I feed him. He almost eats the tips of my fingers, grazing them instead with lips. He chews carefully, as if to not miss a bite. His satisfied yet indifferent reaction is a real let down after Darkrange. Without looking I pick up the knife from behind me. I put the rest of the treat in my mouth for safekeeping, and hand him the knife. His eyes twinkle like he's Santa. He even lets out a jolly laugh. My pulse picks up. I feel like pray. He hunts me with his gaze flickering through all the best places for bleeding. I like the way he scans my body, really looks at me like there's no other. I remove the bread.  
Rick lifts the hand from my back to the corner of my lips. He slips one digit in and turns, exposing the inside of my lower lip. I see the pink of the surface on his pupils. He lifts the knife slowly, not once meeting my eyes. I feel a slight tinge as I see the bright reflection of light on the hefty blade. It takes a second for the pain to kick in. Rick takes a new sandwich and dabs it on the still exposed long cut. I stare in awe and delight as he eats me. There's the moan I was hoping for. "Oh do you taste so good you little dipshit…"he grumbles in between chewing. He releases my lip after another dab in the free running burgundy sauce fountain. I suck on the cut as he eats. My lip is getting swollen.

He brushes off crumbs from his person. I take that moment of distraction to strike. I pull him down for a kiss and make him drink straight from the source. He goes all horny tenager on me as he finds a nice spot to suckle. His hands are traveling under my shirt. I try not to melt, and begin opening his pants. He's pretending to not notice. But is given away as his breath hitches as I play with the band of his underwear. "You do remember Beth," he states into my mouth. I answer by palming his anticipation. He sweeps all major items on the counter to the side and I jump on it, knowing where my ass belongs. I stay on the edge for maximum contact. His body feels wonderful against mine. A little sweaty and firm. He grinds on me, feeling it better without thick pant fabric. No surrender, no whining. I cup a feel of his ass, and start sliding my fingers between the halves. I can't miss it when I brush against something long forgotten. I'm surprised that he doesn't stop me, and the guts I'm displaying. After a trip to my mouth, the phalanges slowly find their way into his ass. He holds me against himself firmly with both hands, and is hiding his out of breath holes in my hair. I gain access for the third finger, and begin my way deeper. I wish I had long fingers like him. I move my fingers to form a row, just to see if he can take it. Big boy doesn't disappoint. He's sweating and panting in pain. He knows the safeword, so no need to chicken out now. Rick takes it well tho, and as I feel jackpot, he squeezes my fingers surprised, and makes a strange all new noise. It's shallow and high pitched. He grasps my hair as if it'd be all he can do. Unlike hypothetical me in his place, Rick takes it standing with no weak knees like a pro. I not too gently assault the quickly drying hole. I can already feel some blood.  
Yeah, I really have no idea when and how, but Beth has snuck past us and is now standing in the doorway. She's holding a gun. Rick feels me freeze, and tilts his head. Beth's eyes narrow as he aims for Rick:" step away from my son, you negligent piece of shit! ..NOW!" Neither of us move. Rick squeezes arround me, makes a lovely noise, and still looking at Beth begins to grind on my fingers. Her eye twitches an bang. I feel getting shredded to hell.

Gasping I wake in the machine. Rick grasps my hand:" You ok?" I take a moment to compose myself:" Too- too real bro. Jeezh."


End file.
